As easy as Drowning
by a-hint-of-garlic
Summary: From time to time Jim needs to teach his sniper a lesson.


Sebastian doesn't bother to hide his anger when he opens the door to the flat. He still checks for any signs of disturbance during their absence before he lets Jim walk in. Routine. Being angry is no excuse to let the other walk into potential danger. Never. He nods sharply to give the all-clear and than stomps inside the hallway, throwing his leather jacket in the general direction of the coat rack- missing. Fuck if he cared. It's Jim's flat, Sebastian simply happens to live here. As his sniper, his bodyguard, occasional punching bag and lover. All part of the job if one works for James Moriarty and most of the time it is okay, but tonight it seems like he is the only one who cares for his boss staying safe.

"Bloody fucking hell, Jim. You just don't do that. Talking to people like Conway like that. I thought he'd tear out your bloody throat just for insulting him that way."

"That is what you are for. I am the brain, you... do the rest. Break fingers. Shoot little fuckers like him. Stop worrying and stick to that."

"I'm serious. What if I hadn't seen the other sniper?"

"In that case you would have failed at your job," Jim states coldly and Sebastian fights down a shudder.

"That's not the point."

"Yes, Moran. That is exactly the point. You do your job and we both are happy. You make a mistake and regret it."

They don't have sex all that often. The game will always be more important, but Sebastian cares. It's beyond professional, he knows that, but that doesn't mean he is able to stop. Keeping Jim safe is his top priority, not only because it is in his job description, but because Jim somehow managed to actually grow on him over time, as stupid as it sounds. The point is, Sebastian knows him - maybe as good as any person still alive - and cares enough to still risk making him angry. Because Sebastian faced war and the desert and a feral tiger and survived with nothing more than a few fading scars, but what scares him is one skinny Irishman who does not know how to keep people from wanting to shoot him.

Jim shoots him a glance that would make smarter men cower down in fear before wandering off into the bedroom, Sebastian only seconds behind.

"Jim, listen to me, for fuck's sake!"

And Jim does, for once, only that he looks like he might be the one shooting Sebastian this time. The the sniper stops mid-motion, because fuck, if he wasn't in trouble before, he is now.

"Strip, then get on your knees," Jim demands nonchalantly.

"Boss..."

"NOW, Moran."

The sudden rush of adrenaline feels like a punch in the gut. He is still angry at Jim for being reckless, but there is also the sudden urge to please Jim. To obey. Don't antagonize him any more than he already did.

There is hardly anything graceful about the way Sebastian first methodically opens the buttons on his shirt, then shrugs it off to the floor. Jeans and pants follow instantly, he simply steps out of them as soon as they pool around his ankles. With a last thought he toes off his socks and kicks the whole pile out of the way. He then sinks down to his knees. All in all it's far from elegant, but that's not what Jim expects from him. If he wants elegant he has to go somewhere else.

Sebastian knows the rules: do whatever Jim demands. Don't speak unless told otherwise. It's simple, really, but right now he has to fight the urge to either run or snap back at Jim. It must show in his face because Jim all but snarls at him before he walks over to the dresser - leaving Sebastian's line of sight. The sniper tenses, but keeps himself from turning and keeps his eyes trained on the thick gray carpet. Knowing why Jim is angry doesn't mean he approves of the reason. But that is the point; in the end, it doesn't matter if he approves of something or not.

Behind his back Jim rummages through one of the drawers. Probably the middle one, Sebastian thinks, since the top drawer only contains lube, condoms and a handgun and he is sure at least the first two items won't be used tonight. He had never dared to go through the stuff Jim kept in his bedroom. Whatever he kept there, Sebastian had never seen anything beside the occasional glimpse when they tumbled into bed. Just enough information to make him nervous.

He hears Jim move before the man throws a pair of heavy police-issue handcuffs into Sebastian's reach. It's both better and worse than expected so he lifts them off the floor and tries not to think forward. It's better not to do that.

"Cuff your hands behind your back," Jim demands and he obeys because in the end this is what he does best.

His heart speeds um as he moves his arms and snaps the metal cuffs around his wrists. They are the real thing, no quick-release for him to fumble for if he should panic. Neither of them could ever be satisfied with an easy way out. There is no such thing for people like them. Rendering himself defenseless goes against every instinct he has, but Jim seems pleased and a happy Jim is always better than the alternative.

Jim taps a finger against Sebastian's chin, and slaps him across the face when he follows the movement and looks up.

It stings, but it's not about pain. The important detail is that Sebastian lets it happen without so much as a flinch.

"You need to be put in your place more often when you start to forget who makes the decisions. You need a reminder," Jim says coldly. "Don't you dare move."

Jim returns to the bed to pick something up that Sebastian can not see from his angle. He doesn't dare to turn around, not with Jim acting like he is. He has to wait until Jim walks back into his field of vision. Something dangles from his fingers, black leather straps attached to a ring of gleaming metal. Sebastian's eyes widen as he recognizes the gag.

"No Boss, please!" he bursts out before he can stop himself. Jim slaps him again for his effort, this time harder and more likely to bruise.

"I am under the impression you are having a hard time keeping that mouth of yours shut. You should make up your mind, dear. Now open up." Jim's voice is sickly sweet as he pets his sniper's cheek. Sebastian lets his jaw go slack and Jim forces the metal ring between his teeth. "Good boy," he praises and fastens the two leather straps behind his head.

"That wasn't all that hard, was it?"

Sebastian feels his cheeks heat up in shame but shakes his head anyway. Jim loves his games, not reacting is not an option.

Jim keeps stroking his hair and playing with the gag's buckle. Between the tugs and the petting it feels almost nice overall, if it wasn't for the bit of drool collecting at the corner of his mouth that he is unable to wipe away.

"Eyes on me, pet," Jim demands a minute later, tired of how his sniper's eyes fall closed, and pulls his hair to make him look up. The nearly dreamy expression is terrifying on Jim.

"You know, I could force anything past your lips now and you couldn't do a thing to stop me. Wouldn't that be precious?" he muses, and Sebastian only barely manages to hold still.

Jim sticks his fore- and middle finger into Sebastian's mouth and presses down onto his tongue until the sniper gags. Jim grins, satisfied at the sound.

"So vulnerable. You hate that, don't you?" His fingers bring tears to the snipers eyes. He tries his best not to fight back, but trying to stay composed is useless. Jim simply keeps pushing until suddenly he steps back. Sebastian reels forward and coughs miserably, but the sudden loss of contact is even worse.

"Naughty Tiger," Jim teases, and it takes the sniper a moment to figure out what the fuck he is on about before he even consciously notices the ache between his legs.

"I will get myself a drink. Don't run away, now!" Jim chuckles, and just like that he leaves.

The silence feels heavy, even with the distant movements he can hear from the kitchen across the hall. After a minute Sebastian forces himself back up and straightens his back. He has no idea how long he knelt at the foot of the bed, but drool is running down his chin by the time Jim returns with a glass of deep red wine in his hand.

It is all a power play, when Jim takes a slow sip before he sets his drink down on the dresser near the door before walking back to his sniper's side.

His fingers trail lightly over a tanned shoulder. It costs Sebastian every last bit of his prized self-control to not lean into the brief touch.

"Your throat would look so pretty wrapped in leather. Something custom made, of course. Nothing off the rack for you," Jim mentions casually. He strokes down his arms and flicks at the metal cuffs. "Also, something for your wrists and ankles. Some nice, snug leather cuffs for when you need some down-time. Maybe I will make you wear the collar every day. What do you think your army mates would say? Would you still want to meet them when everyone could see what you are?"

Sebastian shudders. This really shouldn't turn him on, but the mere thought of putting a collar on him for the world to see is as mesmerizing as it is scary. He wants to reach out and touch him. Or get touched. Of course, Jim grants him neither. At least he stays within reach this time and lets Sebastian rest his forehead against his leg.

It is moments like this that make the truth sink deep into Sebastian's bones. Jim owns him. It is simple like that, a fundamental truth he needed time to accept even if it has been true from day one, more likely than not. Now the thought is oddly comforting, a steady presence in the back of his mind. As long as Jim still wants him and doesn't cast him aside the world won't burst into flames.

He relaxes, concentrating wholly on that patch of skin where he is able to feel some body heat through the fabric of Jim's trousers. He can be content like this, having Jim near by and simply... being.

"Aww, that's precious. Look up, Seb."

The moment he does, he hears the click of Jim's camera phone and Sebastian's eyes grow wide in shock. He instinctively flinches back but stops mid-motion when looking up. Jim all of a sudden seems livid.

"Don't you dare getting drool on my trousers!" he scolds. Sebastian actually forgot about the effects of the gag and now looks frantically for whatever stains he might have left on the fine wool-blend. There is a wet stain slightly above his knee and Sebastian knows he has lost all of whatever sympathy Jim might have gained toward him. It was always the small things that set the man off.

Suddenly there are fingers gripping his hair again and he is pulled to his feet, scrambling hastily after Jim towards the half open door to the master bathroom. The tiles are cold under his bare feet and he wonders for the briefest moment if the heating is broken because he can't remember ever being this bloody cold in the room but then there is no time left to think.

Jim kicks his legs out from under him and he crashes hard to his knees. This time it really fucking hurts and the sniper lets out a grunt he is not able to suppress in any way because of the damn gag still lodged between his teeth. Jim slams his back against the wall and Sebastian gasps. The cold tiles are a shock to his heated skin, pressed flush against his back and arms which strain fruitlessly against the cuffs. His head is still spinning and it doesn't register when Jim opens his fly and lets both the stained trousers and his pants drop to pool around his ankles. He only really notices when Jim pushes his cock through the opening in the gag and Sebastian feels like panicking again.

He can't move, can't even properly suck. All he can do is take it and so he does. Taking what Jim dishes out comes natural by now but his body still screams for oxygen and he can't fucking breath with a cock slamming down his throat. He is also harder than he should probably be.

Fuck if he cares because as long as it is only Jim who sees him like this it really doesn't matter. Letting him fuck his mouth is far from the worst he would do for this man.

The snap of Jim's hips becomes ragged as he gets close, enough to make Sebastian see stars. He gasps for air as soon as Jim pulls back enough to allow for it. Jim is nearly silent as he comes in his mouth, like always. He tries to swallow all of it, he really tries, but the gag makes it impossible and some runs down his chin and onto his chest. The punishing slap he expects never comes, instead Jim simply tuts and wipes the come from the snipers skin and into his hair.

Jim takes his time to pull both pants and trousers back up and tuck his spent dick away.

Sebastian whines and starts bucking his hips helplessly into the air. He wants to come so badly but there is no friction besides what little he can get from his own leg and even that stops seconds later when Jim's shoe nudges his knees further apart. He wants to beg but what leaves his mouth is a needy, strangled noise. Jim seems to understand nonetheless.

"No Seb, you are not going to touch your cock. I know best what needs to be done and what YOU need is a lesson, not a reward. You get to come when you behave yourself. Today you don't deserve an orgasm. You don't hand out rewards for bad behavior, do you?"

Sebastian nods hazily. Whatever Jim says. He still sobs when Jim drags him into the shower and turns on the cold water.

He has no idea how long he kneels in shower, but it's not before he shivers pathetically that Jim turns off the water, removes the gag and unlocks the cuffs from behind his back.

Sebastian coughs and works his jaw. His whole body aches and he is miserably cold and he can't help but lean forward towards the only source of warmth he can reach.

Suddenly Jim becomes gentle. He wraps him into a soft white towel and helps him up. Sebastian leans heavily on him, doesn't even register where they are going until Jim maneuvers him into bed and pulls the sheets over him. Sebastian, in his half awake state watches how the criminal strips of his suit and waits patiently until the other finally slides next to him under the duvet. The warm heat from naked skin feels like a blessing against his freezing body.

This is the other Jim, he thinks. The one that manipulates through kindness instead of fear, which is no less terrifying. Sebastian knows it is just as calculating as everything Jim does, but he never cares. Especially not now. Instead of thinking he presses closer to the other man, drinking up that precious body heat like he might never get another chance.

Elegant fingers start carding through his hair. His jaw still hurts but Jim is pleased again and that is enough to let him relax. He is nearly asleep when Jim speaks, his breath hot against his ear.

"Remember, Seb: I am always completely aware what I am doing. Never question that. I am not taking chances. And most important: It's me who makes the decisions, you merely follow them. Don't you ever forget that again."

"Of course, Boss."

Thanks to DreammasterLoki on AO3 for betareading :D


End file.
